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The Skin I Live In -
Gives "skin deep" a whole different meaning. Appearances can be deceiving, and Almodóvar brutally slams audiences in the head with that notion, shoving our face against the wall after which for good measure. This twisted story of Frankensteinian love is exactly the brilliant kind of "toy with your mind" thriller that I'm deeply fond of. It doesn't confuse you with abstract imagery like
Under the Skin, settling for messages that are easily understood, and therefore, easily disturbing.
And yet, beneath that simple and disturbing facade lies a deeper exploration of sexuality and identity. One could wonder if
WARNING: "plot" spoilers below
Vincente had forgotten hir supposedly 'true self' during the course of hir deception. Even if it's eventually revealed that sie's taken vindictive measures to ensure he remembers who sie was, falling into the deception of appearances can be so easy as the film demonstrates. For a moment as sie looked at a photo of hir old face, a spark of struggle can be seen in hir expression, resonating the film's theme of identity crisis.
And it's not just Vincente who is worth exploring either. Robert clings to the love of his dead wife and selfishly recreates an idol in her image, demonstrating the thin line between love and lust. And yes, there was love in this man despite his seemingly sociopathic tendencies. There are numerous displays of familial love by Robert, so you know he's not just some monstrous, amoral jerk masturbating to his own fantasies. Almodóvar's intent seems to be more than just shock and disturb. It's more like he cynically claims that love is superficial for all it's worth, and sometimes, what you feel in your heart is no less delusional than that feeling in your pants. An uncomfortable statement, certainly, especially when it's a statement also applied to the 'non-consensual' sex scene when Zeca had thought he was merely returning to the embrace of an old lover.
Vincente had forgotten hir supposedly 'true self' during the course of hir deception. Even if it's eventually revealed that sie's taken vindictive measures to ensure he remembers who sie was, falling into the deception of appearances can be so easy as the film demonstrates. For a moment as sie looked at a photo of hir old face, a spark of struggle can be seen in hir expression, resonating the film's theme of identity crisis.
And it's not just Vincente who is worth exploring either. Robert clings to the love of his dead wife and selfishly recreates an idol in her image, demonstrating the thin line between love and lust. And yes, there was love in this man despite his seemingly sociopathic tendencies. There are numerous displays of familial love by Robert, so you know he's not just some monstrous, amoral jerk masturbating to his own fantasies. Almodóvar's intent seems to be more than just shock and disturb. It's more like he cynically claims that love is superficial for all it's worth, and sometimes, what you feel in your heart is no less delusional than that feeling in your pants. An uncomfortable statement, certainly, especially when it's a statement also applied to the 'non-consensual' sex scene when Zeca had thought he was merely returning to the embrace of an old lover.
The Skin I Live In will go down as one of those films too offensive and 'tasteless' for certain people, but for those with a more pessimistic view of humanity, this might be a fascinating affirmation of your beliefs. While the ending is rather tame compared to what it had boldly tackled for the past two hours, saying nothing meaningful more than wrap up a happy ending, the rest of it is a relentless test of endurance worth sitting through to question its uncomfortable subjects.
Last edited by Tang; 05-22-16 at 11:42 AM.
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. Wouldn't have expected you to have liked that one.
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